


i feel something (when i see you)

by soojng



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Character Study, M/M, Miya Atsumu-centric, Musical References, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, References to Canon, akaashi is goated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soojng/pseuds/soojng
Summary: miya atsumu falls in love twice: guitar first, shouyou hinata second. he's come to find that they're more intertwined than he thought.(the one where msby is a pop rock band.)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 9
Kudos: 89





	i feel something (when i see you)

**Author's Note:**

> some points of inspirations / references: the desire to see msby band au backed by some art ([1](https://twitter.com/atsuhinas/status/1224278402795851778), [2](https://twitter.com/onniegiri/status/1226407865193095169)), a love of cars, [_given_ ,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZi84c8Yvd8) the phoebe bridgers album _punisher_ , and lowkey lemonade mouth.

**JAN. 2018**

They’re in a slump.

Well, that’s not right. It’s been a ten month hiatus, not to mention it’s technically nine, since the holidays should count for a month of a break, anyway. _But_ it feels like a slump for him; Miya Atsumu has never been all the more restless, no band members here to make music with, and it’s already the beginning of the new year. He’s eating a small piece of mochi, a visible cold breath in the air, waiting for his twin brother to come back from the shrine. 

Osamu returns five minutes later, hands in the pockets of his puffer jacket, smiling like he always does, a smile aimed downwardly towards a sitting Atsumu. When he hops into Osamu’s Mazda, on the ride home, Osamu asks him, “So what d’you wish for?”

Atsumu takes a minute to recall, or at least, pretends to. _Fortune._ _Fame._ _A sign that I’m doing something right._ Well, that would be more like a miracle at this point. 

“Money,” he lies (well, it’s a half lie). “Oh, that, and perform at Coachella.” He turns his head already, looking out the window, gripping onto the good luck charm from the shrine visit. 

**MAY. 2014**

Enter Miya Atsumu. Eighteen years old, fresh out high school, ready to conquer college grounds. It’s been a month or two already and he’s made a name for himself, and for once, it’s not because he’s one of two twins on campus. Osamu doesn’t come along with him, opting for something more vocational ― culinary lessons. Well, good for him. Atsumu supports it, believing he’ll single handedly edge out for the title of a happier life between the two, since he came to college for one thing and one thing only; that is, starting his band. 

A college indie amateur pop rock band, he thinks, is the best _humble beginnings_ story he could think of, now that high school band (ala Radiohead) is out of the window. He could see it a few years down the line, the front page of _Aera_ , the Japan Times interview, the road to the Japan Record Awards. He could be like Syu someday, fellow lead guitarist from Hyogo prefecture, same dialect and all, an interview spot ready for Young Guitar magazine.

Atsumu’s got an eye for these things; he likes to think he’s not getting too ahead of himself, when he’s got the ambition and talent to make his dreams come true (eventually). Midway into May, he scopes out Kiyoomi Sakusa, fellow first year, and Koutarou Bokuto, second year from his spontaneous band auditions. Sakusa can play a mean bass like he’s the protege of Kim Gordon honed from hours racked up playing for cover bands, and Bokuto’s played drums his whole life, covering for drummer roles at the local late night bars and clubs; they’re the only ones from the school who could keep up with his guitar playing at all, and yeah, Atsumu’s high school dream is coming to fruition, he visualizes, when the three match in synergy on their first practice. 

“Only thing left is the lead singer,” Atsumu says. He thinks if he took a picture then, not that the phone quality back then was that great, he could’ve captured that wide eyed, wild enthusiasm that had made Sakusa silent and Bokuto amped. 

They decide on the name MSBY before June arrives. 

**AUG. 2015**

The first album is finished by the end of August, half the songs written by Atsumu himself, recorded between sessions at the school’s music room, a small recording studio in Shibuya that’s a thirty minute drive from their school, and Bokuto’s shared apartment with his friend Akaashi. They’ve got a manager to represent them now, Meian, who takes some semblance of faith in them despite their lack of label (for now). 

A year ago, he had gone through all the possible options for finding their lead singer; posters, social media, conversations (hundreds of “I know someone who knows someone…” that got him nowhere) until he found Shion Inunaki, who was just good enough for Atsumu’s standards, which meant he was more than enough for Sakusa and Bokuto. Atsumu doesn’t want to admit his worries; that would imply he was insecure. As far as he was aware, Inunaki was a good singer. He had a nice voice. He fit well with the three of them. He tries not to think of the lingering feeling that there could be _something_ missing. Besides, Inunaki was only really doing a favor for Sakusa’s sake; he was a busy student, ready to go into the workplace. That would be one or two years from now. He tries not to think about that one factoid, not when he’s already got _MSBY2_ demos on his USB, songs ready to be heard. 

_Maybe that’s it. The permanency isn’t there._ Atsumu cringed at the idea of going through another search for lead vocals; he could sing, if it came down to it. He could get Osamu, maybe, though Osamu didn’t like to sing that much. Like he promised himself, he wouldn’t think about it; that won’t get him anywhere. Plus, for now, he can lie. He can definitely lie to his band members. 

So he focuses on now, the _now_ which is the end of summer, the rise of MSBY. 

Thanks to the early success of Soundcloud demos from their first year (with instrumentals, mainly, and Atsumu occasionally baring his vocals for a few tracks), some local college gigs, a few labels and potential collaborations at their door, and through word of mouth (they’ve got groupies, yeah, which Sakusa refuses to acknowledge), MSBY is a bona fide _real_ indie band. They’re on the local newspaper, they’ve even got a small section on a Tokyo radio, and they’ve got 9th place for “Most Anticipated Artist” of a monthly Oricon survey. 

Here, Atsumu feels a hunger so strong it could climb out of him (he can taste the irony of his own name too), make a home for itself, take over Miya Atsumu completely. He sees the top of the hill. He’s going there, not on the pace of a walk, not of a run, but of a car. 

**FEB. 2017**

_Shit,_ Atsumu thinks. _Fuck._

Meian and Inunaki have negotiated; Inunaki is quitting, unfortunately. He’s moving miles away to Osaka (for a real job, and though he imagines that part, knows it in the bane of his bone that it’s true) by the time it’s March. That means _an incomplete second album_ , despite the fact it’s been almost two years since their first and fan bases in the modern day are anxious, precarious. That means _no lead singer._ He’s texting Sakusa and Bokuto furiously, doesn’t know for what, exactly. He takes comfort in the fact that it’s the three of them again, but then again, he doesn’t have the time or luxury to be _comfortable_. He needs to find a better singer. He needs to finish their second album, the album that proves that they’re here to stay, that they’re not a fluke. Their fans have been waiting eagerly, their 72nd spot for their third single had dropped out of Billboard Japan Hot 100 in two weeks, and he’s _hungry._

Now he’s parked in his ‘15 Subaru outside of Osamu’s popup business venture, an onigiri restaurant, _Onigiri Miya,_ primely placed in the middle of Tokyo. It’s strange, he thinks, to see a name so familiar to himself for something not belonging to himself entirely. Osamu’s at the front, ordering the moving people around, and Atsumu knows he has a grimace on his face that he needs to wipe off immediately. He places his phone in his back pocket, ready to meet his brother; besides, Atsumu is the one who had doubts about Inunaki. He’s always been thinking about the _next big thing,_ he can’t look back now.

**FEB. 2014**

Interlude. How exactly did Miya Atsumu become an electric guitar god, according to his words? He won’t bemoan the hours spent playing Guitar Hero for the top ranking, that’s for sure. He could also thank mom for gifting him and Osamu acoustic guitars at the age of eight, for the purpose of extracurricular activity, a good time killer to get them off her hands for a while, something which sure looked good on his resume and looked way better imprinted in Atsumu’s dreams of the future. The thing is, he can begrudgingly admit that Osamu is (was, now that he doesn’t play) better. Osamu’s the musical prodigy, taking after dad in that sort, branching out from guitar to piano to violin. But none of that interests Atsumu; he plays guitar like it’s as natural and as necessary as breathing. Even then, Atsumu vowed to beat Osamu, felt the drive to compete with him. 

_That’s_ hard work, he knows. Blood, sweat, and tears appearing in the form of blisters and cuts on his hands; everyday, without fail, all his time spent in junior high and senior high practicing guitar, playing cover songs, spending his allowance on guitar finger picks, making mom record his dual performances with Osamu to evaluate himself, going to guitar lessons nearly a twenty minute walk away on the weekends, and rewatching the same legendary performances from the likes of Jimi Hendrix and Chet Atkins. If he broke his guitar, then he’d take Osamu’s till he got a new one, something which Osamu would get exasperated with, but not arguable with.

 _That’s_ how they get there, to the top. Atsumu leads his (now defunct) high school amateur rock band INARI to a top award at a Tokyo music festival. But he gets caught up, somehow, in all his grandeur, to recognize his shortcomings. He can’t continue a band that doesn’t _want_ to continue. He thought they could've been Japan’s Deftones; that doesn’t go to plan.

“Really, ‘Tsumu, I’m sorry,” Osamu had said. He sounded apologetic; Atsumu just felt a bitterness sitting on his tongue, staring at the award. Back then, he had thought Osamu would be wasting the natural gifts he’d been bequeathed with, the one Atsumu had spent half his life chasing to catch up to. “That was a good way to go out. But you know I was only playing for you. Music isn’t my thing in the long run, it’s yours.” 

Okay. Whatever. He can find a new member, anyway. He doesn’t _need_ ‘Samu. He can get over anything, anyway. 

It’s a few days after Osamu’s out of the band that INARI is talking about plans for college, the end of the era. Suna, Aran, and finally Kita. They’ve got that look of pity on their faces that he never wants to remember when he was happily talking about his plans for their band; they’re not coming back. Atsumu wants to think he was being mature about the ordeal (he wasn’t). He remembers shouting, he remembers anger and mutual hatred, he remembers skipping a week of school before graduation. 

Of course Osamu is there to handle his misjudgements, to collapse the situation. Atsumu had sat on the bench outside school waiting for him, only for Osamu to say, “You know, you can be a real _dick_.”

Atsumu had turned away before Osamu could even kick his ass. Graduation is coming up, anyway. Atsumu can’t think about if he’s a dick or not, as long as he’s a talented dick. College kids are more serious; he’ll turn his head to a Pink Floyd biography, a band beginning in college. He’ll take it from there.

March rolls around; to his surprise, he’s got a wrapped box in his hands for a graduation gift, a new fiery red Yamaha guitar, gifted from none other than INARI.

**MAR. 2018**

If Bokuto’s best friend Akaashi, their honorary roadie and occasionally unpaid publicist, comes through, Atsumu thinks he might buy Akaashi a house someday when he’s at the top. Or a shiny new car; Akaashi seems to like Mercedes. He takes note of that. 

Ten month hiatus turns into a year before Akaashi enters Sakusa’s studio apartment with Bokuto, Atsumu, and Meian, gathered for an ‘emergency meeting’. Sakusa makes sure they’ve all sanitized their hands and taken off their jackets before they can enter. 

“I talked to someone who knows someone who knows someone,” Akaashi says plainly when they’re all sitting around the table. Atsumu flinches, briefly feels a sense of deja vu. He sort of hates those words; he also can’t tell if Akaashi is being sarcastic. Then again, the hiatus seemed to have affected Bokuto the most; Bokuto had turned to playing drums for other bands for a few gigs and seemed dejected at the thought of not performing for an audience. Akaashi probably felt as eager as him to change that. “And I gave my contact information, told him to come and try out here.”

“If you gave _your_ information, why give _my_ address?” Sakusa asks. 

“Well,” Akaashi starts. “Bokuto hasn’t cleaned in two weeks. Couldn’t find any equipment. Plus, your place is closer to the place they’re staying at. This person came all the way from Brazil.”

“He’s Brazilian?” Atsumu inquires. Very unlikely, though it could be possible, not that he cared. Still, Akaashi is so thorough and reliable that it’s pretty scary.

“No, he’s Japanese. He was just there for the past two years. Anyway, my friend’s friend knew them back in high school. Really good singer.” 

An hour later, the door knocks. He feels it then, opportunity. He could taste it on his mouth already. In comes the orange haired, short young adult that Akaashi had proclaimed earlier to be Shouyou Hinata. He’s stumbling already, before waving and saying, “Hi.” Sakusa’s already moving in milliseconds from his spot to inspect him. 

There, comes realization. A few minutes, give or take. They lock eyes for the briefest of moments. Atsumu thinks, _I know you._

**JAN. 2013**

Atsumu is seventeen here, nine years of playing guitar under his belt. INARI, started just last year, has earned a performance spot at the local music festival for high schoolers, similar to the one he’ll end up at next year. There, he’s one of the most anticipated performers, at least in the category of guitarists. He’ll beat out ‘Samu for that title, damn him. 

_I’m Miya Atsumu, from Hyogo, born under Libra skies. I’m the best guitarist in all of Japan, and you’re all going to know my name._

He’s looking around wildly, thinking of the _next big thing_ to happen. There’s music label scouts and recruits there, there’s opportunity presenting itself at his feet. A few months back, he’d even gone to a band camp and learned as much as possible from a guitar workshop. He’s got nowhere to look back to, now. 

(But he does look back, anyway. Life, in all its irony, makes him think of this turning moment in his life every now and then. He’ll think about it a day later, a month later, and even years later. For some time, he had practically persuaded himself that it was a dream). 

Before INARI can perform, he observes a performance from a musical duo dubbed Karasuno with his brother Osamu. This is it; _the_ moment he’ll think about years later. There’s the orange guy, the “tangerine”, Osamu had remarked, jumping around the stage, singing his heart out. Atsumu isn’t one to be in awe, but there he is, wide eyed, speechless, heart racing. _Who the hell is he?_ There’s Atsumu’s actual competitor next to him, playing the guitar that makes the former sing perfectly to his tune, but for once, he’s not thinking about the competition (though said competitor, Tobio Kageyama, gets the recognition for the best guitarist there that year). He’s thinking about _him,_ that voice, the perfect clarity, the emotions visible, someone not just singing for the sake of singing. He’s never heard someone like that before; he’s been vying for that kind of singer all his life. 

_That’s it._ There’s the clapping from the crowd, there’s his rare moment of quiet, too moved to speak. _That’s the kind of singer that gets a guitarist wrapped around their finger._

_That’s who I need to play for._

**APR. 2018**

So Shouyou Hinata hasn’t seemed to have changed in those five years, aside from a tan and slight increase in height. Atsumu realizes his voice has sharpened, though, become an even bigger weapon that it was back in high school. That’s guaranteed; adolescence has passed, people change, and now Hinata sounds and looks mature, confident. Atsumu knew the answer the day Hinata had walked in back in March, even before his audition, even after. He voted _Yes_ immediately, to the shock of Meian. Before, Atsumu had to be pleaded with to let anyone, _anyone_ sing for them, even just as an one off thing. Even Sakusa would side with Bokuto to hurry things along before Atsumu could be convinced. There was a unanimous consensus this time; Hinata was in. 

First practice. Bokuto drives the four of them along with Akaashi in his Jeep to a higher end recording studio in Minato City. There’s a certain haste to it; there’s the excitement of the first time. He’s thought about it, how many singers he’d practiced with, but this is different. A few years back, he told Osamu he’d play guitar how he wanted to; he didn’t care for shitty singers, singers who couldn’t keep up with his guitar playing or the band. He’s looking at the back of Hinata’s head, who’s sitting in the front, keeping up a rapport with Bokuto about his time in Brazil, and somehow he’s got the feeling what he said to Osamu back then isn’t going to ring true now. 

They’re at the studio now, ready to perform a demo that Atsumu taught them a week ago. He’s plugging in the Fender amp, setting up his guitar. 

“Relax,” Atsumu finds himself saying, as Sakusa and Bokuto prepare. Hinata doesn’t seem to be able to hide his nervousness, in the midst of it all. “You’ve got this.” Hinata looks back at him, allowing himself to smile, tension releasing. Hinata’s wearing a jacket that Atsumu gave him when they first met at Sakusa’s apartment, an extra MSBY logo black and gold jacket they made when they first began. He looks good. He looks like he belongs in that jacket. 

“Now,” Bokuto begins. The cue. Akaashi sits behind the glass screen, watching them. Then Bokuto taps his drumsticks, and Sakusa’s about to begin next. Atsumu’s fingers are itching to go, like this is the last time he’s going to perform. He’s looking at Hinata, who looks back at him, waiting for him. Atsumu gets the nod from Sakusa, hits the guitar strings, and then Hinata starts.

He’s lost in it now, playing to his heart’s content, and Hinata is _singing_ as if to show Atsumu he _can._ He thinks about INARI, he thinks about Inunaki, he thinks about the dozens of gigs and performances over the years, instrumentals, guest singers, yet this is where he tosses out all inhibitions, all prior thoughts. _What did I do before you? Who was I playing for?_

_World, meet Shouyou Hinata._

**DEC. 2017**

Nine month hiatus. He’s counting now. He feels desperate, to make new music, to perform, among other things. He hasn’t been on a date in months either, not since their last gig. Usually, he’d hop off stage and find himself fending off advancements and dates, but now he finds himself missing it, the distraction it brought. Of course, the years of yearning for his musical goals have left him without a real romantic relationship, but he also didn’t mind the casual dates, the Instagram DMs, and all the afterparty hookups. He’ll gloss it all over if it means something new to write a song about. _The real band experience._ He’s sorely lacking that right about now.

He sits at the corner of Onigiri Miya, opened a few months back, to instant success and popularity. Not surprising, since Osamu himself was popular and knew alumni that’d come and support him. Right now, he’s glaring at a signed photo on the walls of the restaurant, featuring none other than an awkwardly eating Tobio Kageyama of the band Adlers and his friends, Osamu propped in the middle, smiling fondly for the photographer. _This_ is the ultimate sibling betrayal; Atsumu makes the mental note not to leave a tip (he still doesn't get discounts, to his annoyance), and to embark on a silent treatment for the next week. 

_Tobio Kageyama._ Immediately after high school, Kageyama joined a top recording label in Japan and was announced as part of the pop band Adlers. Their debut was an anticipated and instantaneous success, and they were dubbed the hottest artists in Japan of that year. At the year end, they performed at the Japan Record Awards, took over the billboards, and had the number one single for a whole month after recording for a movie title track. Atsumu thinks that should be his coveted spot, sometimes, but he’s convinced himself that Adlers definitely lacks the authenticity of MSBY.

And okay, he’s not one to compare himself to anyone; but Kageyama’s _Kageyama_. Though he doesn’t seem to be the type to be able to communicate with the opposite sex, he’s consistently in the Top 3 in Japan’s monthly polls for the most popular male celebrities, along with child star Oikawa Tooru. He got a fucking shoutout from _Miyavi_ in terms of likeness, all at the cusp of his 19th birthday. At the very least, he doesn’t need to worry about Kageyama taking over the movie theatres anytime soon; Atsumu found his popular curry commercial to be a joke, not that anyone agreed with him (“I mean, you don’t exactly have an ad on your resume to compare it with,” Sakusa had said, whilst filing his nails). He won’t admit to ripping a few posters with Kageyama’s giant, smug face on it, either. Sure, Kageyama is good. He could play the guitar like a prodigy, he could probably even play for a singer that sucked or next to a farm animal and make it sound good. Atsumu's pickier; he's also too defiant for that.

What frustrates him is that when he had looked at the lineup for Adlers a while back, there was one face missing from all those years ago when he first saw Kageyama perform. It garnered a frown from Atsumu, though he wasn’t exactly feeling dejected for them. It came as a possibility that the boy Kageyama had performed with years ago might have quit music. He didn’t exactly want to think about that voice not being part of the music industry. (Then again, he thinks, good for them. Adlers didn’t deserve a singer like that. They’d be too powerful to compete with. Besides, _then_ he would really be envious towards Kageyama.) Or Atsumu might have been delusional, the only one delirious in that audience all those years ago. 

Like he had noted, Atsumu walks out without leaving a tip, getting back to his Subaru. There, in the comfort of his car, he thinks of how big Tokyo is, and how he hates this part of the city, the one that suffocates him, looks down on him, reminds him that he's got miles to go if he wants to become anyone. It’s a big city, but still small enough to contain him. 

So fitting that Onigiri Miya’s in front of him. There’s a hill he can visualize in his mind, with INARI there, with Adlers there, with him at the bottom of the hill. If he can see the top, he’ll imagine it. That he gets himself and MSBY to the top of the hill, before they’re tumbling. ‘Samu looks down to him. He’s reaching out. Atsumu would never take his hand.

**JULY. 2018**

The scrapped second album isn’t so scrapped anymore; they finish it in a manner of weeks, with only album art, mixing, and editing left, and are already in the middle of their third studio album. He’s giddy, but not too ahead of himself like he used to be. There’s something so _easy_ about it, their dynamic, the feeling like he’s got the perfect frontman-guitarist duo of the lifetime, next to Queen, next to Led Zeppelin, and it all comes so _easy_. Every song Atsumu has written, every riff, pulled off naturally and complemented by Hinata’s voice. 

In the midst of one session back in Tokyo, Sakusa comes up to him, handing him a water bottle. 

“How you’ve been playing lately,” Sakusa muses, “has changed.”

Atsumu scrunches his face up, visible confusion. Bokuto and Hinata are fooling around in the background. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa pauses. He seems to be searching for the right words to say. “I think it’s changed. From how you were last year.”

Now they’ve both turned their heads to look at Hinata, who’s got that infectious laugh of his geared towards something Bokuto said. Or, more like, Atsumu has been looking at the guy all along, and Sakusa just follows his line of sight. “‘Cause I’ve finally got a singer good enough to keep up with my playing.” His statement is resolute, firm. Sakusa cocks his head and Atsumu turns to him and decides he’s got a smile under that mask of his. 

**MAR. 2017**

Atsumu has really lost his groove. 

He hasn’t left the house in five days, and his mind’s a mess. He sends a shit ton of songs to the band group chat for a while before deleting them all off his phone. He’s been laying on the floor for hours at end, playing guitar, his Fender amp on, feeling like he wants to smash his Gibson entirely. Okay, his career’s not _over_. Everyone seems to be optimistic about that except for him. For the first time, he’s starting to feel like he kind of pities himself. Inunaki is gone, not that Atsumu went to see him off considering he’d be too sensitive, reckless for it, and Bokuto has his degree now. For once, they’re at a crossroads; not that anyone admits that to him. He comes up with the conclusion by himself. Eleven missed calls from relatives, not that he’ll respond. A dazed stare at a few articles about the top musicians in Japan currently, including Adlers, before he’ll toss his phone and play a hard rock song. His hands hurt. 

Bokuto and Sakusa show up at his door on a Saturday, presumably for an intervention. He wonders if Osamu texted them. 

“Oh good, Tsum-tsum,” Bokuto smiles, “you’re not dead!”

So they speak the only other language they know, playing some MSBY2 songs Atsumu seems to have written what seems like forever ago, but he’s frustrated, agitated, he knows, slamming his fingers against the guitar in a way that disrupts the song. There’s a loud screeching noise before they stop an hour and half into their session, and Atsumu could almost cry then, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t pity himself, not especially in front of Sakusa and Bokuto, who could be part of the top youngest bassists and drummers in the nation, but instead slum it out with him for all these years, when they could’ve been getting better grades in college, could’ve been more famous already; he thinks this is what the end feels like, and he could’ve chosen an out years ago. He wants to see the rest of the world already. 

“I’m fine, so,” Atsumu forces out, “let’s continue.” But they don’t, because Sakusa and Bokuto won’t pick up from where they’re left off. Atsumu begins the song again instead, a lack of passion and drive to his actions, but his hand hurts, and he doesn’t want to play guitar any further than this today. They’re staring at him, and he has that memory of the events leading to graduation, a band that ended before it began, the faces his friends and former bandmates wore. He heaves, and his hand keeps hurting. “Let’s stop then.” They clean up, and Bokuto leaves first. 

“By the way,” Sakusa had started, packing up his things, voice faint, almost like he was humming, “I don’t have regrets about joining this band. If you start something, I figure you need to see it to the end.” Before he’s out of the door, he consoles Atsumu with a hand on his shoulder for a brief second, so Atsumu knows he means it. 

They already announced Inunaki’s departure; that same month, they wrote a statement announcing an indefinite hiatus. 

He feels full this time, in a way that makes his stomach churn violently. He only tastes defeat. 

**JAN. 2019**

They pull it off, like a miracle. He’s made the note to visit and thank the same Meiji Shrine since last year’s events.

The second studio album is released in the beginning of November, and since then, Atsumu has been feeling like he’s living in a dream he concocted once when he was eleven. 

Linear paths aren’t so linear, like he used to think. They get lost, they go back home, they go somewhere else entirely. The second album is scrutinized by each member over and over, a brand new sound that sounds exactly like them at the same time. Hinata isn’t Inunaki; he’s Hinata. _Hinata_ is written all over their sound now, and he feels like a brand new piece of their puzzle, complete. MSBY, complete. They took a road trip spanning two months since July, playing random gigs to boost their first single, perfecting their album at a new recording studio every other week. Osaka. Kyoto. Nagoya. Bokuto’s Jeep, Sakusa’s Mitsubishi. All funded by donations, their own money, and manager Meian’s savings. Social media works like a wonder; he’s grateful they’re all fairly good looking, interesting to look at. He’s already known since 2014 that MSBY was no normal band. Networking, a few label contracts to consider with newly found flexibility, college showings; they do it all over again.

That’s how it goes. Second single, released in October. Charts immediately. Pitchfork’s _Best New Album_ 8.9 review, a rarity for foreigners. Billboard #3 World Albums. He’s staring at their name on Oricon, on Billboard Japan, on television, in his family group chat, on his high school’s page. They’ve got a freshly minted Wikipedia page now, written in _both_ English and Japanese. _i-D_ sidepage. They’re the front page of a GQ Japan spread, flashily dressed in black and gold. _Rolling Stone Japan_ interview. New merchandise that’s sold out in a matter of days, shoutouts from their seniors, brand new equipment with their names embellished on them, and a custom line of facemasks designed by a Korean fansite sent specifically to Sakusa’s PO box. More and more people are asking for his picture, his hometown friends tell him to send his autograph, and Osamu’s still the first to celebrate with him. They’re eating a specially made _Miya Atsumu Onigiri_ filled with fatty tuna and drinking bottles of Dassai sake. This is where there’s a photo of them taken by a customer that ends up on the restaurant walls next to Kageyama’s; this is where Osamu tells him that it seems like Atsumu is happy; this is where Atsumu comes to the realization they’ve ended up happier together, in a somewhat ironical separation of their paths.

He’s at the top of the hill now, and he’s eye level with his brother (“So,” Atsumu remembers teasing ‘Samu when they were fifteen, “when I get credited as the founder and star behind our band, I’ll make sure you’re a focal point of our documentary too. But I’m gonna be known as the happier, more handsome brother.”) and thinks that Osamu must’ve known from the beginning that he’d be there. 

Somewhere along the way, he’s lost track of all the band analogies. He’s finding themselves incomparable. 

**SEPT. 2018**

The location’s Kyoto. It’s late at night, and Atsumu has parked his Subaru outside the convenience store. He’s picked up a hot tea for himself and a meat bun for Hinata. They’re on the way to recuperate with the rest of the band at Meian’s friend’s home after some sightseeing; okay, that’s honestly for Atsumu’s own self satisfaction, a sort of indulgence to him after he was able to graduate a few months ago. But they’re also on the tail end of their gigs, and he’s pumped to go home in a week or two to track their album release. 

Atsumu might be nervous; he hasn’t exactly been alone with Hinata all that much, most of their time spent practicing. Hinata is wearing the befitting MSBY jacket, which looks far better on him than on Atsumu. Today’s a rare occurrence of only the two having an outing. 

In the car, Atsumu clears his throat. Hinata looks at him, the sudden center of all his focus. Atsumu feels awkward, like he could stumble on what he’ll say. He begins, “I wanted to tell you, by the way, when I first met you, that I’ve heard you before.”

Somehow Hinata lights up even more, even though he seems fairly tired. “Really? Where?”

“High school. There was a music festival my second year, and I saw you on stage. You were singing with Adlers’ Kageyama. You.. you were really good then.” _I thought I might’ve imagined it, that I could've dreamt you._

“Oh. Thanks, that actually means a lot to me.” Hinata leans back. 

“Where have you been?” Atsumu bursts, full of bewilderment. It sounds uncool, it sounds cheesy, sounds like something Aran would advise him _not_ to say. Besides, he knows that Hinata was in Brazil. He doesn’t know _why._ _I’ve been waiting for you_ , he could add. But he doesn’t. “These past five years, what were you _doing_?” He could’ve added, _you could’ve been a star already. Like Kageyama._ But he doesn’t, because he’s got the feeling Hinata knows. 

“Um, Brazil,” Hinata says simply. “Third year of high school, I basically ran into a wall. I damaged my vocal nodes for a while. I couldn’t run from the fact that my lack of technique and proper training would end up killing my voice eventually. I didn’t want to go to college, so a superior of mine recommended me to go to Brazil and train. Some music lessons. Peace of mind. Healing. All that; also, I got to start over. I thought I’d be back in 6 months or so, but then it got extended to a year. It kept extending. I didn’t… I dunno, didn’t want to think about a singing career.”

 _Once you start, you don’t stop running away._ Yeah, he gets that. He thinks about it again, the performance he witnessed. Hinata was the _next big thing_ there, though in an objective light, there were impracticalities, faulty techniques, something that his opposite, the polished Kageyama, lacked back then. “What made you come back? Much less, to music?”

“You won’t believe it. I happened to meet Oikawa Tooru.”

“ _T_ _he_ Oikawa Tooru?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but he was my big moment of… epiphany, I guess. I happened to run into him in Brazil while he was on tour, and he gave me this whole speech, or something like that, and encouraged me to perform again. He made me realize that singing is it for me. I couldn’t live without doing it.”

Atsumu falls silent for a minute, thinks of how relatable it is. “Well, I guess I’ve gotta give my thanks to Oikawa,” he jokes. “‘Cause I’m glad you found us.”

“You said you heard me before we met. You think I haven’t heard _you?_ After I got the referral, I searched your name everywhere, listened to all your songs, instrumentals and vocals alike. I watched some crappy quality performance videos to watch you guys play. _You’re_ good, that’s why I wanted to sing with you guys. For a few days, all my roommate Pedro heard was you. Your guitar playing. He likes your music too, by the way.”

Now Atsumu is stunned. He thought it might’ve been pure luck and coincidence, what had fallen into his hands back in March. Now he thinks it’s something else entirely, the fact that Hinata had wanted to sing for him back, not that he’s superstitious. _Someone like Hinata can’t be a mere mortal. That’s how he’ll take over the world._ He clears his throat, thanks Hinata belatedly and notes he wants to talk to Pedro someday, when they’re on their world tour someday and make a stop at Brazil, and they’re driving back. He tries to ignore a feeling like something’s burning, or like he’s falling, tries to ignore the soft song playing on the radio that Hinata’s humming along to, his eyes closed. He is exceptional at lying, figured by himself, well documented by his brother, but not to himself.

**APR. 2019**

They’re back in the car, nighttime again. Atsumu has traded in his Subaru for a black Honda HRV model; among other things, he has a new Marshall amp, a new black Fender Stratocaster. This time, they’re in Okinawa now, parked outside their hotel. 

His heart is beating like crazy; doesn’t know why, doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but he’s come to find that he does know, somewhere along the rocky way. He thinks Sakusa might’ve seen it months ago, thinks Akaashi might’ve told Bokuto weeks ago. So, he can say he’s got the number one most supportive band in the world. He’s bashful, he’s proud of that one fact. 

“You’re pretty,” Atsumu drawls, eyes fluttering shut. He’s thinking out loud. _Beautiful,_ he means. When Atsumu was seventeen, he knew it then. He knows it now, too. There’s singers that _you_ know you need to play for. Seventeen year old Atsumu witnessed the brightest of stars, the kind of person that everyone wants to love. Twenty three years old and he thinks he is that _everyone._

(At the moment, he’s thinking about back in March, a late night session. Atsumu almost swallowed his pride, dropped his head in his hands, PRS guitar on the floor, and came to the inevitability of the fact that Hinata could someday perform with someone else, someone better. He’s still yet to establish his position among guitar giants, in spite of all the allure of interviews and higher up recognition, unlike someone like Kageyama. Hinata had chased him out, rather dramatically, frantically stated that he only wanted to sing with them. He wanted to sing _only if_ Atsumu was playing guitar by his side.)

Hinata is staring at Atsumu then, and then he tilts his head, and brings his hand to Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu turns, and his hand is visibly shaking, and he wants to permissibly bring his hand to Hinata’s face. Like a silent promise, like they know this already, Hinata nods. So, Atsumu does. His hand cautiously moves from Hinata’s hair to his cheek to the side of his jaw to his neck, like Hinata’s the most delicate thing he’s ever seen, like he’s the first person he’s ever touched. He thinks of what to do next, but he doesn’t have to think this time. He doesn’t know who moves first; Hinata is leaning back and Atsumu’s lips are on his. His breath hitches, and his hands are grabbing onto Hinata’s black MSBY shirt, his arms. He’s so happy, he could really cry now, yes, finally; he hadn’t even been this happy since the success of their album. He’ll recall how he’d been so deadset on one thing, never wanted anything else before, back then, but now he wants other things. New things. He feels a new hunger now, he feels it satiated, he feels content. 

_I’ll do anything for you. If you ask._ Oh God, now he’s at a standstill. Shouyou Hinata could really break his heart, he realizes. He’s starting to think he doesn’t mind it. He really, really doesn’t.

Atsumu pulls away, unable to tell if it's been ten seconds or ten minutes. It falls into his memory at the moment about how he’s never been in a relationship before, though now he thinks he _definitely_ isn’t inexperienced. Red cheeks, messy hair, dazed smile, an unwritten love song somewhere there. They could do anything together. They’ll go anywhere they want. 

“Wherever you want to go,” Atsumu declares quietly, unmoving from his spot, eyes glazed, pointing his finger at Hinata, in the middle of his chest, straight at his heart. Metaphorically. Literally. Both. “...I’m gonna take you there.”

**AUG. 2020**

There’s a wild, sweltering heat haze, sweat beads dropping everywhere, so hot all their makeup is melting off. Another music festival, five more to go in August alone. The headliners, that’s where MSBY is now. He wonders if anyone can see him now, center stage. _Do you respect me?_ The top of the hill, he found, is not so much of a hill. It’s more like a stage, next to three other people, that he wants to be with for the rest of his life, nowhere to fall back upon and hundreds of people to back him up. There’s a voice that stands out amongst anything else that could take him anywhere he wants in the world. Backstage, the one place of total privacy, he’ll kiss their lead singer, the pairing of a lifetime, he knows. He’ll smirk with no hidden intentions behind it and ruffle that orange bed of hair, say, “You were so good out there.” They’re there like that for minutes, a certain deific ritual between the two. Solos begin afterwards. Everyone shines. Routine, familiarity, though it’s not the bad thing it used to be anymore.

Hinata has a gift. In the form of his voice, of course. But all pretenses aside, Hinata has brought a goodness to him that he’s found no name for. Somehow, they’ve found a way to express such a gift to the entire world, but it belongs to him alone. Passion revitalizes. Atsumu falls in love all over again, or learns to, with his guitar, with music, with something else entirely. 

Somebody. 

**DEC. 2021**

Tokyo Dome.

There’s just one of the biggest crowds that they’re going to play for in their lives, but even Sakusa doesn’t seem fazed by it. There they are. They’re walking in, about to play their newest single, written by Atsumu, starring his best guitar riff yet, off their third album, on the heels of their first EP. Bokuto, 27. Official leader, drummer, percussion. Sakusa, 25. Unofficial _official_ leader, bassist, keyboardist. Atsumu, 26. Lead guitarist, backing vocals, songwriter, synthesizers. Hinata, 25. Lead vocalist, songwriter, rhythm guitarist.

Before anything, Bokuto’s dutifully doing their introductions. It’s been more than fifty times he’s said the same words now, but each time sounds like the first. “Thank you guys for all your support over the years. We’ve been dreaming of this moment since we were just starting out in college, but now it’s come true, all thanks to you!” There’s so much cheering that Atsumu’s ears are ringing, but he could hear this noise forever, if he could. 

There’s the afterparty to look forward to after, hosted by Osamu and Akaashi, a friendship recently kindled through a shared love of onigiri. He thinks about the Mercedes Benz they should buy for Akaashi as a birthday gift, then the celebratory New Years party they need to throw for Meian for entrusting them so early in their careers. Then there’s their luxury hotel they’ll be back to at night, a whole floor for themselves. A photoshoot two days from now on, then the flight to Bangkok a week later. But right now, all he can think about is _this_ , faces on the big screens, limelight on them, and the cue begins, and he looks at Hinata, who looks at him back, a grin that could envelope his whole face, he thinks, and his fingers are starting the chords. Hinata belts. 

_This is MSBY._

**Author's Note:**

> the relationship between lead guitarist and lead vocalist can be something so Personal
> 
> i've actually been mulling over this idea for a while now though i haven't written in a long time, so apologies if anything's rusty or inaccurate (esp. the timeline & wack geography lol). i was going through the tags and there is a metal band atsuhina [ fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663278) which i feel should be credited as the pioneer for this au and it's awesome. 
> 
> i was also inspired by richard siken works and this [quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/523781-name-one-hero-who-was-happy-i-considered-heracles-went).
> 
> this feels very self indulgent for the most part tbh. for me personally, my references for the bands' type of music & general aesthetic would be radwimps/one ok rock for adlers, and the 1975/5SOS for msby but you can really imagine whatever you want. i also envisioned them covering mr brightside. also, while doing a bit of research it turns out there is a band in real life called black jackals lol
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading! i do hope it's enjoyable.


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